CHAPTER 33: TURNING TABLES
An uncharacteristic growl tore from Tifa's throat as she swung her leg in a wide roundhouse kick aimed for Zangan's neck. He swayed his head to the side in an artful dodge as he grabbed hold of her leg and spun it, sending her tumbling to the grass below. She caught herself by shifting her weight to balance on her grounded foot and pushed into the momentum set by her master. Recovering control of her body before she hit the ground, she used the forward motion to send an elbow toward Zangan's abdomen. He blocked it easily with a sweep of his sturdy arm and let out a pleased laugh.
"Excellent recovery! Good!"
The crickets chirped in the meadow, the predawn light softening his features. Normally, she would've smiled at his praise and reflected upon how far she'd come as a martial artist. But not today. Impatience and disappointment blocked out any rationality and frustration broke through her carefully constructed mask. All these years and it was still almost impossible to land a hit on the old man. She was sure that out of all of his pupils, she was the slowest learner. Master had never said anything like that, but how could it not be true? She had spent six years as his apprentice and Tifa still hadn't felt like she was as skilled as she could be. The thought of disappointing him made anxiety rush like high tide through her chest. She felt rotten to admit it, even to herself, but Zangan was the closest thing she had to an approachable father figure. If he no longer felt she was worthy of being his apprentice, how could she bear losing such a pillar of comfort in her shrinking world?
Grunting, she rushed forward in a blur of black hair. Her bangs were matted to her forehead with sweat and there was a wild look in her normally soft, wine colored eyes. Tifa swung at him with a right hook, which he deflected like lightning. He spun to tap a light kick to her back as she stumbled forward from the force of his deflection.
"Watch your back. Don't be careless!" he instructed, tone firm yet gentle.
Instantaneously, she struck again. Choosing to aim low this time, she spun quickly into a sweeping kick at his feet. Master Zangan was too fast. He avoided her with a well-timed jump and stomped a boot down onto her ankle, locking her in place. With a scowl and a grunt, she tried to twist free. He had noticed her atypical irritability since the beginning of their session, and it wasn't helping her learn in the slightest. Zangan let her go and she immediately hopped to her feet.
"Enough for today. Your father will wake soon and need your help."
With a small cry of frustration, she folded into a heap on the grass, catching her breath and trying to still her heart. Tifa knew she was acting childish and undisciplined but she couldn't help it! Nothing was going right and she had never felt so worthless.
It had been two weeks since the landslide incident. At first, she had thought herself useful as she helped Papa and his healing leg. The doctor had had to have two of his young apprentices help set his broken femur and the man had been in a great deal of pain since. Because the landslide had blocked a good deal of the eastern mountain path, certain goods were impossible to ship in and had left the doctor with few options to prescribe for pain management. She'd give him the measured dosage and play the piano to help relax him into complacency and the void of sleep. The medicine made Papa drowsy and helped numb the aching for a while, but it made Tifa anxious. The smell of the laudanum drew up visions of bloody handkerchiefs and the sound of wheezing from the well of her memory. Tifa had hoped that all this might draw Papa closer to her and make him realize that she was a good girl who loved him, but that was not the case.
Master Zangan moved to sit calmly beside her and Tifa turned her head away, embarrassed. She had allowed him a glimpse of an ugly side of her that she had tried so hard to contain. If she had little worth when she was polite and patient and kind, what worth could she possibly have when she let her control slip and was ill tempered and petulant? Until now, Tifa had thought herself a master of controlling the expression of her feelings. But lately, swallowing the turbulence of her heart was like trying to place a lid on pot that boiled over the sides. She was a mediocre student learning an art that seemed worthless to her now, with no friends to protect. Cloud had left her, had gone off to bigger and better things, and his silence haunted her every moment. Her mother lay in the earth half a mile up the mountain path: an angel sleeping in the ground who had abandoned her to fight Papa's furies alone. Her father was angry and lonesome, bitter about the unfair hand life had dealt him. There was nothing she could do about any of it.
The early morning breeze whispered through the grass as orange streaks of light began to burst through the horizon. What hope was there for her future? Tifa wasn't even sure how to picture how she would escape this mundane and miserable existence? There wasn't any where to go, nor any money to get there with.
"You're restless, Tifa. What happened?"
She pulled her knees up to her chest and kept her face averted. What could she tell him to make him even begin to understand? There were so many layers to her frustration that she wouldn't have known where to begin even if she did feel like letting him see the extent of her unhappiness. If she told him about how much she wished Cloud would choose her over his career, would he think she was self-absorbed? If she told him about how she wasn't good enough to deserve her father's affection or approval, would he think less of her? Would Zangan finally realize that he'd be better off moving on and finding a more worthy apprentice? She didn't want to know. Tifa decided to keep her answer vague.
"I'm not centering my mind properly," she said, fingers twining through blades of grass. She felt her master's eyes on her, but didn't move. "I've been tired. Papa has been up at night because of the pain. He needs my help sometimes."
The old man exhaled audibly and nodded, looking toward the rising sun. A few moments of comfortable silence stretched out before them.
"Master?" A lump formed in her throat as he hummed in response. "When are you leaving Nibelheim? You told me that you traveled around the world reaching martial arts, but you've been here for a long time."
Tifa was surprised at the sound of his hearty laugh and her head finally turned to face him
"You want to get rid of your master that badly?"
"N-no! It's not like that. I'm just—I'm afraid you'll go. I don't want you to leave."
The old man smiled at the wide eyes of his apprentice, for he had wondered the same thing himself. He had grown to love the mountains and the isolation from the fast pace of the outside world. He had made good friends and felt fulfilled in his niche as a guardian of the small village, a sort of jack of all trades to aid the townsfolk and a mentor to a certain child who needed to know that an adult was capable of kindness and compassion. When he had first come to Nibelheim, Zangan hadn't expected to stay for more than a year or two but the quiet atmosphere and the crisp mountain air had quelled his wanderlust for a time.
"Well, I guess it depends on a few things: one of them being you." He smiled as her eye brows rose. "I've never had anyone train under me for as long as you have, Tifa. Most of my students lose interest and move on to other things or start preparing for their careers after a few years. But not you; you're the most resilient pupil I've ever had. I'm proud of you."
Her shy smile made a warm feeling spread through his chest. His relationship with Tifa was unlike any that he had ever had with previous students. Until now, everything was strictly business. He would be paid by the parents to teach their child, and while Zangan was always fond of the children he had never become that invested in them. With Tifa, it all had changed. He had agreed to train her mostly out of pity when her mother had passed away, but over time he began to see that to her, he was not just a teacher or source of entertainment. The girl held on to every moment in his presence and absorbed his soft encouragement like a dry sponge. Her big red eyes held a sense of pain and loss and desperation that she should be too young to understand and for once, Zangan felt truly needed by his pupil. He had taught her martial arts, but Tifa had taught him that first impressions aren't always right and that displays of remarkable perseverance can be made by even a lonely little girl.
"You'd stay here until my training is complete?"
"I'll stay until you grow tired of it. Maybe start a business or family of your own and no longer have time to spend with this old man."
Tifa remained silent as she griped the blades of grass between her fingers, tightening and pulling to uproot a clump of earth. She painted a fake smile across her face before standing, brushing her palms on the sides of her tunic.
"You know I'll always make time to spend with you, no matter what." She carefully kept her eyes averted. "Papa will wake up soon—I've got to get home. Thank you, Master, for…everything."
He nodded. "Take care, Tifa."
` … … …
Papa was still asleep when Tifa crept into the house. Limbs still heavy with fatigue from sparring, she hurriedly scrambled some eggs and toasted some bread in case her father should call for breakfast. It would only a matter of time before the man howled for pain relief. The laudanum helped, but he preferred liquor to numb the incessant ache. The doctor had said a shot of whiskey or vodka a few times a day would be alright as long as it wasn't mixed with any medicine, so Tifa complied to her father's wishes without question. Liquor was also cheaper than laudanum or morphine; until Papa began to heal and was somewhat mobile there wouldn't be any money coming into the house.
Tifa had quickly learned his preferences when it came to the mixed drinks that eased her father's pain. He enjoyed whiskey mixed with ginger ale and orange juice mixed with vodka, but rum and apple cider seemed to be what he asked for most. When the pain was bad enough, he'd just ask for the alcohol straight. Tifa was afraid he'd get drunk and shout or even strike her when she came near, but she had come to understand that he needed much more than a shot every couple of hours to transform into that slurring, angry monster. For now, she held the control over his addiction and it was both frightening and empowering. She dumped a shot of rum into a small tumbler before filling the rest of the glass with cider and set it on the wooden breakfast tray with the rest of the food.
She fingered the cap of the dark rum bottle, considering taking a sip to distract her from her disconcerting thoughts. As quickly as she could, she sucked in a breath and capped the bottle before shutting it away in the cabinet. Her master had taught her that problems can only be solved by facing them head on. Even knowing that, it was hard to turn away from the thought of even temporarily drowning out the deafening screaming of her heart with the burning and numbing of the dangerous potion. With a sigh, she moved from the kitchen to the back door. Leaving it open a crack to better hear her father's eventual calls, Tifa sat on the worn wood of the back porch stairs and let the autumn breeze whisper comforts across her skin.
Sometimes, Tifa didn't understand herself. She certainly dreaded coming home to deal with her irate father, but something had made her want to run from Zangan's serene kindness that morning. Maybe she had dealt with Papa's sharp tongue for so long that she didn't know how to handle his gentle words or quiet understanding. Everything was such a jumbled up mess in her heart, and Tifa felt as a pebble must feel as it's tossed around in the ocean's crashing waves: pushed and pulled over rough sands as it is worn down over time. She had no control over which path life would force her to walk upon, and it was a very hard lesson to learn.
Tifa let her gaze wander across the yard to where her tire swing had fallen in a fierce summer thunderstorm. The branch holding the childhood relic had become brittle and snapped when the stormy gales had blown against it. The leaves on the old oak tree had never budded that year, even when summer was in full bloom. Its bark was as tough as ever and its limbs were wide and unchanged, but the soft green leaves had never appeared. She had asked Master Zangan about it and he had told her that it was most likely dying from the inside out. When she looked in the mirror, she saw that old oak tree. On the outside, she was unchanged. But inside, her once joyful heart had decayed into a wasteland of doubt, fear and hopelessness as she waited out the seasons. Cautious anticipation of a sign that maybe her life would turn in a positive direction continued to fade as the days kept turning into nights.
The heaviness in her chest made her weary and she slumped against the splintered wood of the railing, the old birdhouse on the corner post catching her attention. The once brightly painted yellows and blues had faded and chipped away, exposing weather-worn wood.
Cloud haunted her in all the worst ways. The memory of him lingered in the corners of the silent house and in between the blades of grass. The smoldering excitement of discovering life together had been doused in an instant when he left for Midgar and the embers had died with each passing week without word from the boy. There were no longer any birds living in the birdhouse, and there were no longer any reasons for her to expect her friend to come back. Cloud had flown away, and fledglings never returned to the nest. Once upon a time, she had spilled tears at the thought of leaving her home and family to grow up. Now, all she could think of was how to escape. Tifa wanted to fly. She wanted to fly endlessly towards light and hope and peace. But doubt and loyalty and fear had stretched around her like iron bars and though she sang and sang, her savior had never come.
But he promised, right?
… … …
A gust of wind shook the window panes of the empty barracks, an eerie howl echoing through the large room. It was dinner time but Cloud had purposely snuck back to his locker instead, hoping for some privacy while the others were gone. A grin adorned his face as he checked his certificate once more, just to be sure.
He had graduated the necessary training program for ShinRA military personnel. His academic scores were some of the highest in his class, but he had barely managed to scrape by the physical aspects of training. Thanks to Zack, he had earned satisfactory marks in fencing and swordplay, but had barely managed to pass with his lackluster scores in things like marksmanship and hand to hand combat. It had taken all of his patience and courage, but he had finally graduated! Cloud was no longer a cadet, but a full-fledged member of ShinRA's infantry.
Folding the paper and tucking it in the pocket of his blue fatigues, he turned back to the task at hand. His locker was a bit of a mess and he had to have all of his things packed and transferred to his new living space in the military dorms. The thought of leaving the barracks was a welcome relief. It was so easy for the others to pick on him in this arrangement, for none of them had any privacy or room to breathe. All of his personal belongings that he feared the others would tamper with had been stuffed into his locker for safe keeping. Starting tonight, he'd be living in a small suite with three other soldiers, each having their own tiny bedrooms and a shared living space and kitchenette. Opening a large duffle bag, he sat on the floor to begin packing. At the very bottom of the metal locker was a cardboard box. He took it in his hands and removed the cover to stare at the carefully preserved stack of paper inside—Tifa's letters. On top of the papers sat a black, velvet box and an old, rusted jingle bell. Cloud took the bell in his hands and smiled at the merry tinkling noise it made before stuffing it in his duffel bag.
Next, he picked up the little jewelry box and opened it with a sigh. The modest diamond of the engagement ring sparkled in the electric light as Cloud ran the pad of his thumb over the white gold band. Zack had helped him pick out the little piece of jewelry, which Cloud was able to purchase for a reasonable price along with both matching wedding bands.
Oh, how he couldn't wait to see her face when he knelt down on one knee and asked her to be his wife! Tifa's voice was so serene that he had always found it as enjoyable as a good night's sleep. Cloud missed the way she'd wrinkle her nose and bow her head slightly as she laughed. In his dreams, he recalled the way the dappled sunlight illuminated the deep red hues of Tifa's eyes as they wandered the forest together. Her gentle laughter was like soft rain patters on the windowsill—gentle and cascading—lulling him into peace. He'd be her hero for sure. Or at least, he could try. Cloud still sent letters bi-monthly, and the lack of response gnawed at his resolve. His deepest fears lay in the possibility that her father had already managed to arrange a marriage, resulting in forbidden contact between his daughter and any man who wasn't betrothed to her. After all this time, was it still him that she pined for?
Regardless of any doubt regarding whether or not she still loved him, he had a promise to keep.
Absentmindedly, he flipped the ring box open and shut again and again. Zack had teased him again and again about getting engaged after they had made a hasty exit out of the jewelry store with grins on their faces. His friend had said he was way too young to settle down—that he wasn't even an adult yet and he had a whole number of girls out there who he had yet to meet. Cloud had disagreed wholeheartedly. He was an adult. Back at home, he'd be of age to start courting a girl to marry and would be learning his trade in which he'd make a living. If he was still living in Nibelheim, it would've been high time for him to start providing for himself and seeking a life of independence.
Here in Midgar, one wasn't legally considered an adult until age eighteen and it was evident in the behavior of his peers. The other cadets from the area were immature and flaky, only taking strides to better themselves if they were told to or if it was strictly required. They seemed perfectly content to let their parents or superiors make the decisions in their lives, lacking the drive to apply themselves or commit to responsibilities. Maybe to them, life was easier that way. Perhaps growing up in an environment where society didn't trust them to make any decisions until such an old age had left them without the confidence to commit to something as big as marriage. Cloud saw them all as immature, even Zack to an extent. But Zack was at least kind hearted and encouraged him, wishing him luck and demanding to know more about the girl whom Cloud was 'throwing away his youth' for.
He closed the ring box and gripped it in his fist before stashing it into the innermost pocket of the duffel bag. Zipping it shut, he slung the strap over his shoulder and stared at the empty locker.
Surely, fate had been cruel in almost every aspect of his life. Cloud closed his eyes in a silent prayer that this time, the universe would send luck his way. He'd need a lifetime's worth of good fortune if he was ever going to make it into the SOLDIER program and convince Mr. Lockhart that he was worthy of his daughter's hand.
Standing, he stiffened his spine with resolve and turned on his heel. The sound of Cloud's boots echoed loudly with his confident footsteps as he left the barracks behind.
… … …
The infirmary had that stale smell of rubbing alcohol and latex that drew his intestines into a tight knot of nervousness.
Cloud shifted in the plastic chair in the small white waiting room, knee jiggling up and down with edgy anticipation. April had blown in fast; time seemed to be slipping through his fingers like sand before he had time to collect his thoughts. Now that his schedule had changed, adjusting to the life of an infantryman had distracted him from the troubling thoughts and homesickness for his best friend that used to make time crawl by. These days, he was too exhausted from his patrol routes and continued physical training that the only thing he anticipated was the feel of his pillow underneath his head. But today was different. After a year and a half, Cloud was back to be evaluated for SOLDIER pre-qualifications.
Mom was not a tall woman and like most of her traits, he had had inherited that as well. Cloud didn't know how tall his father had been, but he knew he had to be taller than Mom by now. Good food and ample amount of protein in ShinRA's meals combined with natural growth spurts had him rocketing up like a bamboo shoot. Cloud felt taller, but he wouldn't know for sure until he was measured. When it came to his weight, the teen could only hope that he'd magically been able to gain enough meet the requirements. He had eaten as much as he could at every opportunity but military rations were never particularly large and the lankiness of his limbs and thinness of his waist made him fear he'd never make the cut. He had to—both his and Tifa's futures depended on it.
"Private Strife?" A bespectacled man with a clip board in hand and stethoscope hung over his shoulders was looking straight at him. Cloud stood when addressed, sucking in a breath. "Come with me."
This was it.
He stripped to his undergarments as instructed and let the physician carry out his evaluation. His heart thudded so quickly in his chest that the man had given him a strange look after raising the stethoscope to his chest and checking his blood pressure. Cloud stood as straight as an arrow as his height was measured, holding his breath and looking straight ahead.
"Five feet, five inches," the doctor said, scribbling onto his chart as he boy let the air quietly gush out of his lungs.
He had just made the minimum height requirement. Cloud's heart continued to hammer against his ribcage, for he knew what was next. Maybe the doctor would just forget about it?
"Step on the scale, please."
Damn. Cloud obeyed, gingerly placing his feet onto the little square machine and closing his eyes. Fluctuating numbers danced across the digital screen as it calculated his mass and the blonde said a silent prayer as tense seconds ticked by. Please, please, please…
"One hundred twenty six pounds even."
Double damn.
Cloud's brain immediately flooded with panic and he blindly followed orders to step off the scale and redress. What would he do now? It would be impossible to gain another twenty four pounds in the three weeks before his scheduled trip home to the mountains. Even if he did, it would be at least a month before he could audition for SOLDIER and undergo the physical evaluations necessary. He felt the small bit of remaining hope melt away like a snowflake upon his skin. Who would've thought something so trivial would halt the progress of his dream?
The doctor escorted him out the door with a few half-hearted encouragements, telling Cloud that he'll grow more in time and that he had plenty of time to try making SOLDIER. The blonde nodded as politely as he could, thanked the physician for his time and strode down the hallway, face flushed from embarrassment and frustration.
Was becoming SOLDIER really his dream after the dark truths he'd discovered over the past year? The benefits of befriending a SOLDIER first class were innumerable. Zack not only rejuvenated Cloud's battered spirit by showing him that he was worthy of friendship and kindness, but his companionship had served as a protective social barrier when it came to being bullied. While he hadn't earned the others' respect, he was certainly enduring much less torment and grief. But perhaps one of the most valuable aspects of this unlikely partnership was that the raven haired man had opened his eyes to the realities of life as one of ShinRA's weapons of war.
Zack was ALWAYS out on a mission or busy doing other things for the company. It had shocked Cloud to see someone as laid back and resilient as him becoming tired and stressed by his harried schedule. Currently, he'd been sent out to Icicle Inn for one secret reason or another and it had been weeks since his departure. Zack said he had a girlfriend in the slums, but Cloud was sure he couldn't spend as much time with her as he would've liked to. The life of a SOLDIER seemed unstable: they seemed to always be running around, never rooted to one place. Maybe being like Sephiroth wasn't was great as he thought it was. Was it a blessing that he couldn't even meet the pre-qualifications? He couldn't help but think of his little wife suffering of fear and loneliness if he was always out fighting the world's most dangerous enemies as a SOLDIER.
Other infantry men would tease SOLDIERs out of jealousy, saying they weren't human with their incredible powers. Was it true? With mako injections that enhanced their strength, speed and senses, was the supposed loss of humanity worth it? According to Zack, the SOLDIER program was in the midst of a mass desertion; everything spiraling out of control after Angeal's death. The raven haired warrior had confided in Cloud that, right now, it was hard for him to trust anyone but Sephiroth. There were rumors of SOLDIERs flying off the handle with rage and using their incredible strength irrationally. That wouldn't happen to Zack, right? Cloud had always sought the glory of heroism and the resulting comfort of approval as a boy, but seeing the toll the SOLDIER program had taken on its members had begun to shift the subject of his ambition.
Had that very ambition caused him to make the biggest mistake of his life? What if Tifa hadn't waited for him? He'd write her again. Maybe this time, he'd get a response.
Cloud navigated the winding hallways and stairwells, looking forward to a half hour alone in his room to sulk before he had to leave on patrol duty. He couldn't get her out of his head. Those flowing black locks and warm, crimson eyes haunted his dreams and pulled at his waking thoughts. The feel of her lips on his was an oft visited recollection and Cloud fought to remember every detail of that day: the colors of her crown of leaves, the way the autumn sun had illuminated the rich colors of her eyes, the gentle press of her hand in his. He stopped in front of his room, key in hand, when a realization hit him: SOLDIER or not, she had loved him anyway. Since his earliest memories of childhood, she had always sought his company. He never had anything to give before and yet it was always enough for her. It had taken him so much time to realize that all along, maybe the hero he really wanted to be was just Tifa's hero. Sephiroth's eyes had been cold and dead despite ardent praise from a million people around the world. Maybe, Cloud had just wanted to be good enough for her to love.
Perhaps in the end, that plan wouldn't involve SOLDIER. But without it, how could he earn Brian's approval? Had he blown his savings on the ring for no reason? He had to try; he had to rescue Tifa from that oppressive existence. She had told him that she loved him. Uncertainty pooled in his gut whenever he thought about what could happen when he showed his face back in Nibelheim. If Tifa didn't want to marry him, was betrothed to another man, or was forbidden to be with him by her father, Cloud didn't know what he would do. With his romantic and career ambitions up in the air, Cloud felt untethered and insecure. Together, they had created hope for their future where there previously was none. Had they lost what they'd found because he foolishly left to chase a dream?
He pushed into the suite and found solace in the privacy of his room, bypassing his bed and slumping into the hard wooden chair at his desk. A bitter, humorless chuckle escaped his throat: after all this time, it was really just Mr. Lockhart whom he'd been striving to impress. Perhaps it would do him good to try writing to him. To ask for a girl's hand in marriage is quite a big deal. If Cloud was to hope to get anywhere, he knew that he'd have to formally make his interest in Tifa known to the hostile man. Just showing up next month out of the blue to try to win Brian's favor would be foolish, at best. If Tifa was already betrothed, Mr. Lockhart would be more than happy to let him know.
The plain stationary pad beckoned to him and he answered its call. He was full of regrets, but there was hope yet.
… … …
Guilt and remorse pooled into the cracks and corners of the empty house. It collected between the cold stone tiles of the kitchen floor, between the wooden floorboards and under the broad, fraying rugs.
A creeping darkness had permeated the once merry atmosphere and Brian couldn't decide whether it felt like a lifetime or just yesterday that laughter bounced off of the white walls. The air of the Lockhart house was stifling and oppressive: stagnant, bleak and devoid of all the things that make a house a home. Being bedridden for weeks after breaking his leg had forced him to face his long denied conscience; the following months of hobbling around the house had made the results of his negligence unmistakably apparent.
It had been quite a long time since he had been able to be out and about in the village, which meant there were a quite a few items in the Lockhart mail slot at the inn. There were a few bills, but the majority of the envelopes were all from a certain cadet in Midgar. All were addressed to Tifa, except for one that was addressed to himself.
Astonished, Brian sat at the kitchen table and turned the envelope over in his hands.
Cloud Strife had always been a thorn in his side. Yes, the boy had been born into unfavorable circumstances that were no fault of his own—existence poisoned by shame and contempt. His presence had been harmless enough until big blue eyes had captivated his little girl and the venom of his stigma had spread to her veins as well. She had followed him down a lonely path of public scrutiny and now faced a potentially fruitless future.
When he thought of how Lia had been so adamant on kindness as a cornerstone of their family's values, Brian felt shame wash through his gut. In the back of his heart, he felt immense remorse over how he treated Claudia and the boy. He used to judge the woman next door for her inability to provide sufficiently for her son and fate had twisted his life into an unrecognizable prison in some type of spiteful karma. Now, he was the struggling single parent who had no idea how to handle his grief and figure out how to raise a daughter alone. It was no secret that he had failed miserably from day one.
His contempt for the Strife boy was another thing that long days in the solitude and stillness of his bedroom had forced him to explore. It was hard to remember what it was like to be fifteen years old. At fifteen, he had longed for freedom from his parents and the boring life in a hum drum village. The blonde boy's departure from a town that never warmed to his existence was no surprise. He knew how Cloud felt about his daughter if her birthday gift and the growing stack of letters he kept hidden were any indicator of the kid's affections. He hadn't had the heart to be rid of them, so he hid them in the old wooden trunk in the attic where Lia had stored her summer frocks and sandals. He knew Tifa missed hearing from the boy and had taken the lack of word from him to heart. Every time Brian lied to her when she asked if she had any mail, her round face would crumble into misery and she'd fade back into the shadows.
Carefully, Brian tore the envelope open and quickly read the short, formally worded letter. The kid had elegantly written a request for consideration to court Tifa and take her as his wife.
At first, anger had panged in his chest. But if he was honest with himself, he wasn't surprised by this proposal. This was exactly the reason he had kept Tifa's mail from her. He thought it was necessary to put distance between them if he were to marry her off to a respectable man, but the ample amount of time he'd had to analyze the situation had made the girl's predicament clear. There would be no suitors waiting for the isolated daughter of a once respected man who had lost himself to sorrow and alcohol.
No, there was hope yet. The girl was still young.
He couldn't let Tifa know that Cloud had displayed interest in her as a wife. The boy would lead her into a life of poverty in the filth of the Midgar slums and he couldn't have that. Brian had villainized the boy's cowardice as a display of defiance and disrespect for him—for wooing of teenage girls was not something done without supervision. But when he himself was a love struck teen, he had been guilty of the same practice. He had swept Lia off her feet without prior approval of her father and after weeks of whirlwind romance had slunk to her father with a marriage proposal, tail between his legs.
But now, the Strife boy had written him—the only formal declaration of interest in courting his daughter. How ironic. He had tried so hard to get rid of that weed but despite his effort, Cloud had grown in, bright and strong. It had been almost a year since Brian had arranged for Cloud and Tifa's communication to be cut off, but somehow the boy had remained persistent. Despite his efforts at keeping them apart since the earliest days of their childhood, the universe seemed to stop at nothing to keep them together. The boy's enduring will was like an awful itch that crawled underneath his skin.
With a weary frown, Brian folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope before tossing it into the woodstove to burn.
… … …
It was out of necessity, really. Sneaking around to collect a garment or two from Mama's closet to add to her own wardrobe always weighed heavily upon her conscience. Every time she had slid the wooden closet doors open, an eerie feeling would settle upon her, as if she was disturbing something sacred. But what else could she do? Her clothes didn't fit well anymore—not at all! Papa had said he didn't want to give Ms. Strife any of his hard earned money, and that she had plenty of clothes to wear. He didn't seem to understand her predicament. Her body was continuing to grow: long, coltish legs made even her lengthiest skirts brush just below her knees, her hips and breasts continued to morph into their adult proportions, making her appear to be more and more like a young woman and less like a little girl. It was about time, too, for soon she would be considered an adult. But what did it matter? Her fifteenth birthday meant nothing if Cloud didn't come back. Being a woman meant nothing to her if she'd remain tethered to her father's house.
Flipping through her Mama's hanging clothes she quickly grew disappointed in the selection: they were all winter clothes. It was abnormally warm for late April and Tifa had hoped to find something light and thin to wear. Mama had died in the cold of early spring and hadn't taken her summer garments out of storage. She remembered how her father always used to help Mama bring the trunk filled with clothing into the attic as the seasons changed. Maybe it was all still there?
Quiet as a mouse, she moved out into the hall and climbed the attic steps.
Over the past year, she'd learned the danger of focusing only on what wasn't there. What if she came to the end of her life and realized she'd spent every day waiting for a blonde haired boy who would never come for her? What if she was old and grey before she understood that Mama and the Papa she used to know were long gone, and she was wasting the precious days of her life chasing traces of a long vanished childhood? Tifa couldn't let that happen. Her father didn't know how to move forward. Papa was so helpless in the face of his grief that he had simply stood by as it stole each day from him. She didn't want her life to drift away from her by thinking of nothing but Cloud and what could've been. But if she drew her thoughts back from him, what hope did she have for her future? Tifa remembered the tiny note that had accompanied the birthday gift he had sent her—the last words he had written to her.
It was almost time: he said he'd return by her birthday. The third of May was only two weeks away but after a year of silence, she wasn't sure if it would be wise to anticipate his arrival.
Did she still cross Cloud's mind, wherever he was?
There was only one tiny window in the attic. Rain of a spring shower pattered against the glass and the dim light of late afternoon made it difficult for Tifa to see at first. Eyes adjusting, her gaze wandered over haphazardly stacked cardboard boxes and small crates before it landed upon the notched wood of an old chest that seemed to have been recently disturbed. Fingerprints had dotted away the layers of dust on the flat lid and the heavy piece had been shifted so that it was easily accessible from the top of the staircase. Curiosity drew her fingers to the iron latches in an instant and she pulled back the top. Tifa's mouth dropped open as wide eyes took in the contents. Amongst her mother's neatly folded garments were a dozen or so white envelopes, her name written each one in Cloud's familiar chicken scratch. The air flew out of her lungs as her hands began to shake. Before she knew what she was doing, she gathered up the letters in her arms, heart thumping loudly in her ears as her pulse raced.
Cloud had been writing to her! Papa had hidden them! All this time, she had tortured herself with the thought that the one she loved had lost interest in her when in reality, she was the one who left Cloud hanging. Anger burst like fireworks in her chest. The very thing she had been so desperate for had been hidden over her head all this time.
A growl rose out of one of the deepest parts of her soul and split the blanketing silence of her red roofed prison. She flew down the stairs. White walls and picture frames passed by in a blur, but all Tifa saw was red. She refused to stay silent any longer.
...
A/N: A belated happy birthday to Princess-of-Callow! She's a huge sweet pea with an amazing writing talent. If you're into Cloud/Tifa, check her stuff out!
Firefly: Funny you mentioned Tifa letting Brian have it... ;)
Thank you for reading, especially those kind enough to R&R!